


Ghosts

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, dubcon, gynecological exams, referenced child prostitution, referenced/evidence of genital mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5796262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ratchet stumbles upon something regarding the twins that he never would have imagined. And this is just the tip of the iceburg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is rated as it is for referenced situations, there are no explicit scenes other then a gynecological exam. Yet I still caution readers if any of the above tags bother you.

                The medbay was quiet.

                Empty of patients, Hoist was giving each of the exam tables a thorough scrub down while Ratchet lingered, finishing up some overdue reports. They chatted about little things: Jazz’s latest party, the new patrol rule Prowl had just instigated, and Prime’s upcoming basketball game.

                It was peaceful for a change and in no way should Ratchet’s spinal strut have been crawling like it had been for the past hour, but nevertheless it was. He ignored it for the most part, attributing it to lack of recharge and proper refueling. Right after finishing these reports and sending them on to Prowl, he was planning on heading straight to his quarters where an extra cube of mid-grade and his comfy bed awaited him. Surely that would take care of this feeling of… apprehension?

                Ratchet shook his head, resolutely shoving the uneasy sensations aside, and hit send on his final communique. Immediately after the report disappeared into the ether, the data pad flashed white. The screen’s brightness grew exponentially and then abruptly burned out with a little pop.

                Glaring at the device, Ratchet shook it, despite knowing the pad had likely shorted a circuit and wouldn’t respond to anything much less a good shake. Well, another one to add to the pile he kept meaning to take to Wheeljack. Ratchet took it as a sign that he was meant to leave, so he stood and gathered up the other pads littering the small desk.

                “Heading out?” Hoist asked, head popping up over the edge of the farthest exam table.

                “Just about. Have to put these away,” Ratchet replied, hefting the stack in his arms, “and then I’ll be out of your diodes.”

                “Good. Wash up and get some rest,” Hoist instructed. “You’re looking a little gray around the edges, Ratchet.”

                “That’s just dust from the tables. I hope you’re cleaning them better this time around than last,” Ratchet shot back, irritated as always when someone commented on the state of his health. Saving another mech’s life took precedence over detailing his own frame, any day.

                Behind him, Hoist muttered something, but Ratchet was already halfway out of the room and the other mech was right anyway. Ratchet just hated to admit it. So he continued on down the brief hallway to his office, nudging the door open with his foot to allow himself entrance. He plopped the leaning tower of ‘pads on the edge of his desk and spent a few minutes refiling them on the shelves that lined one wall of his office.

                Once he had the patient files squared away, he grabbed the shorted out ‘pad and turned to the narrow door which lay to the right of the shelves. The supply closet located there was a small graveyard of malfunctioning or dead equipment awaiting Wheeljack’s time, and the storage unit had just gained one more resident that needed to be put to rest.

                He yanked open the door, intending to just toss the ‘pad onto one of the shelves. Instead, he froze, ventilations hitching as the whine of a charging blaster reached his audials. He looked down, expecting to see the lithe form of Ravage or another one of Soundwave’s cassettes leaping for his throat. Instead, pale blue optics met his, the light from the office spilling into the darkened interior of the closet and highlighting the red Autobot symbol emblazoned on a gold-colored chestplate.

                “Woah! Sunstreaker?!” Still in shock, Ratchet leaned forward to better see the other mech and confirm his identity. The glowing tip of the gun rose in clear warning, held in the mech’s farthest hand and cradled in the elbow of his closest arm. Sunstreaker was sitting perpendicular to the door, knees drawn up and pedes pressed against the shelf opposite him.

                Ratchet hurriedly backed up a step, releasing the door. As he moved away, the blaster tip lowered, pointing at the ground.

                “Sunstreaker?” Ratchet repeated, processor awhirl. What was the frontliner doing here tucked away inside a rarely used storage closet?! “You didn’t show up your monitor shift this morning; Prowl keeps asking over ship wide comms for you to report in. What’s going on?”

                From this distance, Ratchet could see no visible wounds, but his medic protocols were clamoring at him. Probably because the mech in front of him was obviously stressed: near-white optics, plating slicked down tight, and an energy field which practically fizzled at the edges where it brushed up against Ratchet’s.

                He was about to contact Prowl to notify him of the missing mech’s whereabouts, but then Ratchet paused. Prowl would either come down himself or send someone like Ironhide to yank the frontliner out. Ratchet had a sneaking suspicion that that would be a monumentally bad idea as neither officer had much patience.

                Ratchet wasn’t exactly known for his patience either, but he could manage to exhibit some if the situation called for it. And this seemed like a prime time to draw on that oft ignored reserve.

                Slowly, Ratchet crouched down, optic level to the other mech. Sunstreaker’s grip on the gun relaxed slightly, but he didn’t put it away.

                “Sunstreaker. What’s wrong?” Ratchet asked, lowering the volume of his voice. His fingers itched to touch the other mech, his sensors indicating an incredibly elevated sparkrate and core temperature.

                “He said… he could cross it off the list now,” Sunstreaker mumbled, dropping his gaze to Ratchet’s shoulder.

                “Cross what off? Who is ‘he’?” Ratchet asked gently. He inched closer, his optics adjusting to the darkened interior of the supply closet.

                “… having a twin.”

                The words were spat out, Sunstreaker’s entire frame giving a minute shiver. Ratchet sunk back onto the heels of his pedes, tanks churning at the reply. Sunstreaker’s words could indicate any number of situations, but which one could incite this type of reaction in a notoriously fierce frontliner? Spark contracting tightly, Ratchet feared he already knew that answer.

                Doing his best to appear impassive, Ratchet quickly opened up a private line to the second in command. Prowl answered almost immediately.

                **Yes, Ratchet?**

 **How quickly can you get Sideswipe back on base?** Ratchet demanded.

                There was a short pause before Prowl responded. **He’s in Maine. Driving at his top speed would make his arrival 5.4 hours. If I dispatched Skyfire, he could fly there and back within the hour, but that would be…**

 **Do it,** Ratchet commanded, interrupting the other mech.

                **Ratchet, what is going on?** Prowl asked, sounding frustrated. **Our energon stores are dangerously low. This type of trip…**

                **I found your missing frontliner,** Ratchet interjected. **And I’d like Sideswipe here to help me treat him.**

                There was another pause before Prowl spoke again, carefully this time. **Ratchet – are you in danger?**

                Ratchet snorted lightly and shook his head. He didn’t know what it said about either the Twins or Prowl that he asked first about Ratchet’s safety instead of Sunstreaker’s condition. It was probably best that Ratchet leave out the fact that Sunstreaker had a weapon loosely trained in Ratchet’s direction. **Not at the moment, no. But before I lay hands on Sunstreaker, I want someone else here whom he trusts and can handle him if he lashes out.**

**Ironhide is off duty, but I could contact him…**

**No!** Ratchet protested immediately. **Sunstreaker is… just no. Brute force would just make things worse.**

 **What about a sedative?** Prowl suggested.

                **Prowl, Skyfire could be launching right now. I’m not sedating Sunstreaker; he’s not being aggressive. Please just get Sideswipe back here as quickly as possible,** Ratchet said crossly. **I’ll make it an executive medical order, if necessary.**

                **Very well. I am alerting Skyfire now,** Prowl replied frostily.

                Ratchet resumed his study of Sunstreaker as soon as the comm line shut down. The blaster drooped in a loose grip, but Ratchet had no doubt it would be trained on him in an instant if Sunstreaker felt the need to protect himself.

                “Sunstreaker, Sideswipe’s on his way back to the Ark,” Ratchet reported.

                At the news, a fraction of the tension winding Sunstreaker’s shoulders tight left him. But he didn’t reply.

                “I’m not seeing any injuries, but I would need to be closer to get a proper scan. Would you let me…?” Ratchet leaned forward and Sunstreaker flinched backwards, his grip on his weapon tightening.

                “All right. That’s fine. You don’t have to,” Ratchet said soothingly and instantly moved backwards. “Hey, you know what? I’m just going to close the door, but I’m going to be right back, alright?”

                Moving slowly and keeping an eye on that gun, Ratchet carefully pushed himself upright and then moved to the door, shutting and locking it. He placed his override on the lock and then commed Hoist.

                **Hoist. I have a little situation in my office. I’m fine, but I need you to let Sideswipe come straight back once he gets here. Also, can you prep Room 7?**

 **Prep it for what?** Hoist replied immediately. Ratchet imagined the sturdy mech dropping what he was doing and hurrying to the closest private exam room. Ratchet had never been so thankful before for the other mech’s dependability.

                **I need some class D sedatives available. Several cubes of coolant. Supplies for a medical grade energon transfusion.** Ratchet wracked his processor for anything else. Once more experiencing that sinking in his spark, he continued. **Lubricant and a speculum.**

 **Certainly,** Hoist replied, not even questioning him. **When is Sideswipe expected to arrive?**

 **About an hour,** Ratchet replied. **Thank you and keep your lines open, just in case.**

 **Of course. Please be careful, Ratchet. The twins are fast and strong, and Sunstreaker is the more volatile of the two,** Hoist cautioned, immediately cottoning onto the fact that Ratchet was dealing with Sunstreaker.

                Ratchet didn’t need Hoist’s warning; as an officer he was already somewhat familiar with the twins and their abilities. The brothers were relatively new additions to the Ark crew, arriving weeks before the ship had left Cybertron and crash landed on Earth. Since awakening from stasis, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had mostly kept to themselves, although they got into the occasional scrap with other members of the crew. They were formidable on the battlefield, but rarely listened to Prowl’s or Ironhide’s commands.

                They were also recurrent visitors to the Medbay because of their recklessness in battle. Just last month Sideswipe had been a resident for almost a full week after Devastator had stepped on him and crushed his left side. Sunstreaker spent nearly every off duty minute camped out next to his twin, gaze steely as he watched every move Ratchet or the other medics made. Sideswipe would smile and joke with the medical staff, but Sunstreaker only glared.

                Big difference between that mech and the one sitting in front of him, Ratchet thought.

                “Is there anything I can do for you? Do you need anything?” Ratchet offered, slowly kneeling down in front of the closet door.

                Sunstreaker’s optics flicked upwards to Ratchet’s face and then lowered again. He opened his mouth and appeared as if he was about to say something and then shook his head, transferring his gaze to the opposite wall.

                Ratchet shifted to one hip and then settled on his aft, draping his arms over his legs. Probably not the wisest position to be in if Sunstreaker suddenly decided to attack, but Ratchet’s knees were getting too old to crouch for excessively long periods of time.

                The frontliner watched him out of one optic the entire time, relaxing even more when Ratchet finally settled. He supposed he could have just left Sunstreaker alone until Sideswipe arrived, but Ratchet’s medical coding wouldn’t let him. No, he would keep an optic on the obviously shaken warrior, provide him what company Ratchet could.

                “So. Any thoughts on the outcome of Prime’s upcoming game?” he asked. “No? Well, Hoist was just saying…”

                This was looking to turn into a long hour, Ratchet thought, observing Sunstreaker’s silence.

\--

 **Ratchet. Sideswipe just arrived.** Hoist’s announcement came just minutes after Ratchet had begun wondering what the holdup was. It had been nearly an hour and a half since he had last spoken to Prowl.

 **Right, thanks,** Ratchet replied, sending the remote code to unlock his office door. And just in time too; moments later, it swung open. Sideswipe warily poked his head in, optics taking in the sight of Ratchet sitting on his aft in front of the supply closet. Surprise flashed across Sideswipe’s face before he pointed at the storage unit.

                “He in there?”

                “Yes. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but he’s got a gun. Sideswipe… careful!” Ratchet exclaimed when Sideswipe stepped around Ratchet and walked into the closet without any hesitation.

                “We’ve always got weapons,” Sideswipe said dismissively. “Hey, Sunny. Whatcha doing, bro?” he asked softly, crouching down in the tiny amount of space allotted to him by Sunstreaker’s bulk.

                Sunstreaker slowly looked up from studying his knees. He had been completely silent this whole time, weapon loosely aimed in Ratchet’s direction. His core temperature and spark rate had remained alarmingly high, increasing Ratchet’s own anxiety in the situation. It didn’t help matters that Sunstreaker kept shivering, armor rattling softly every few minutes. Every instinct Ratchet had screamed for him to help this mech who was exhibiting such obvious distress. But sometimes mecha had to realize they needed assistance before it could be given.

                “Sides…” Sunstreaker croaked.

                “What’s going on? Hey, give me that. Ratchet’s not gonna hurt you, you know that,” Sideswipe replied, plucking the gun from Sunstreaker’s fingers and placing it in subspace.

                Sunstreaker’s optics flicked to Ratchet and then back to his twin, apparently dismissing the medic now that Sideswipe was here. “I didn’t… I didn’t wait for you.”

                Head tilting to the side in confusion, Sideswipe stared. “Wait for me to do what? What are you… wait… you mean…?”

                Vents shakily expelling air, Sunstreaker jerked his head in a nod.

                By now, Ratchet was even more confused, but apparently Sideswipe understood, because he stiffened, placing a gentle hand on Sunstreaker’s arm. “Did he hurt you?”

               Sideswipe’s tone was dangerous, and Ratchet flinched back from the angry lash of the other mech’s energy field.

               “No… well, yes. But…” Sunstreaker looked lost as he searched for the right words. Ratchet stared at the frontliner, at the way he so unconcernedly admitted to being damaged. “He was supposed to be different.”

               “What did he do?” Sideswipe demanded, hand tightening on Sunstreaker’s arm.

               “He… we were just a _game_ , Sides. Like always. Just a prize to be had,” Sunstreaker said miserably, and then dropped his head into his hands.

               Sideswipe stared down at his brother’s bowed helm, expression anguished. A muffled noise escaped from Sunstreaker and Sideswipe immediately wrapped arms around his brother’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to the back of Sunstreaker’s head.

               “I’m sorry, Sunny. I’m sorry,” Sideswipe murmured. “I should have been here.”

               Sunstreaker trembled and Sideswipe held him closer, his optics shutters clenching together tightly as if he were in just as much pain as his brother.

               Ratchet looked away, feeling as if he were intruding on a very private moment. The twins were not prone to bouts of public affection, especially Sunstreaker. Even when Sideswipe had been hospitalized a few weeks ago, Ratchet hadn’t seen Sunstreaker even touch his twin other than an occasional hand on the arm.

               Sunstreaker wasn’t wailing or striking out, yet this quiet show of misery seemed almost more intense, especially when he allowed his brother to hold him. Ratchet thought it best to give the two of them some time alone, together. He shifted to his knees, joints creaking loudly in the quiet room.

              “Ratchet, wait.”

              He looked back to see Sideswipe staring up at him, still holding his brother close. “He’s bleeding.”

              “I have an exam room ready,” Ratchet immediately offered, barely stopping himself from rushing forward. So it wasn’t just emotional trauma, there was the physical too. And that he could treat.

              There was a screech of metal, and Ratchet watched as Sunstreaker scrambled further into Sideswipe’s embrace, almost bowling him over. “No!”

              Sideswipe caught himself against a shelf, gripping Sunstreaker’s shoulder. “Sunny, what…? No, I want you looked at. Ratchet won’t hurt you. You’re the one who came here.”

              Sunstreaker merely shook his head, burying it against Sideswipe’s chest like a sparkling hiding from a memory purge in the middle of the night.  

              “I have sedatives,” Ratchet offered, feeling at a loss. He wasn’t a psychiatrist, but even he could see that Sunstreaker probably needed one. And all they had was Ratchet, who had had merely one introductory course back in his Academy days.

              “Frag, no,” Sideswipe snarled, head whipping up. He tensed all over, and Ratchet had the thought that maybe he had been worrying about the wrong twin. “You’re not drugging him!”

              Ratchet stifled his reactive anger and did his best to maintain a calm façade. “Nothing immobilizing. Just something to take his anxiety down a notch. It’s not mandatory; but it might help.”

              Sideswipe calmed somewhat, gaze studying Ratchet’s earnest expression. “Alright,” Sideswipe said grudgingly. “A light dose. But I’ll give it to him.”

              Ratchet supposed he would have to be content with that. Despite Sunstreaker apparently trusting Ratchet enough to come the MedBay, he obviously didn’t or couldn’t trust him enough to allow an exam at the moment. If allowing Sideswipe to administer a calming medication to his brother got Ratchet that physical exam, then he’d take that compromise.

              He nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Ratchet carefully pushed himself upright and made his way over to the medication cabinet above his desk. This cabinet was stocked with all of the MedBay’s anxiolytics. Since they had the potential for abuse, he kept them locked in a less accessible location.

              He quickly readied a syringe and after capping it, carried it over to the supply closet. Sideswipe reached over his brother’s head and took it from Ratchet’s outstretched hand, expertly flicking the cap off and aiming unerringly for the main energon line on the side of Sunstreaker’s neck.

              Sideswipe injected the medication before Ratchet could even open his mouth and instruct him how to do so. When the frontliner had finished, he placed the syringe on the floor and pushed it so that it slid over to Ratchet’s feet.

              He stared down at it, then up at Sideswipe, astonished. “You did that far too easily,” Ratchet remarked.

              The red twin merely shrugged, expression challenging, despite the gentle hold he kept on Sunstreaker. “You pick things up. How long until it kicks in? Oh. Pretty quickly then,” Sideswipe said, looking down at Sunstreaker as he sagged in Sideswipe’s embrace. Ratchet was pleased to note that Sunstreaker’s sparkrate decreased a little in response to the anxiolytic.

              “Sunny?” Sideswipe said quietly. “There, that feels better already, doesn’t it? Come on, Ratchet’s just trying to help. He’s never hurt us before and I don’t think he’s gonna now either. Do you think you can let him take a look?”

              Sunstreaker ex-vented heavily before replying. “You really think he won’t hurt me?”

              He spoke so quietly Ratchet almost missed the question. Nevertheless, he did hear it, and his spark constricted painfully in sympathy. Then his lines ran cold at Sideswipe’s answer.

              “He won’t. And if he does, I’ll rip his spark out for you,” Sideswipe promised, optics meeting Ratchet’s, a clear promise shining within their depths.

              Ratchet should have felt anger at the blatant threat. Yet for some reason, he couldn’t muster more than a distant sort of irritation. He would probably rip out his own spark if he managed to harm the broken down mech any further.

              Sunstreaker mumbled something else, even Sideswipe having to tilt his head to hear. Then he nodded, looking up at Ratchet once more.

              “Where are we going? Can we meet you there?”

              “Exam 7. Sideswipe… where is he bleeding from exactly?” Ratchet hesitantly asked. He had a sneaking suspicion, based on how Sunstreaker was acting and his earlier words, but he needed it confirmed to ensure he had the right equipment prepared.

              Sideswipe’s shoulders hunched and much of the confidence he had displayed earlier drained away. “Ratchet… you gotta know already,” he begged. A quick flick of his optics showed him Ratchet’s resolute expression. Sideswipe sighed. “His valve, all right?! We… well. You’ll see, I guess.”

              “See what?” Ratchet questioned, confused.

              Sideswipe shook his head. “You’ll see,” he repeated. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

              Sensing he would get no further explanation at the moment, Ratchet nodded and turned away. He wanted to help Sideswipe get Sunstreaker up and to the exam room as quickly as possible, but the mech was obviously traumatized and would only allow so much. Touch from someone he only marginally trusted was probably in that category of ‘too much’.

              He left his office and headed to the door which lead out to the treatment area. Exam room 7 was the only other room in the hallway which contained his office, so traffic should be nonexistent. Nevertheless, he locked the door leading into the main bay, using his override code so no one other than himself could enter. Ratchet also sent a quick message to Hoist to briefly inform him of the events thus far and his plans. Hoist acknowledged almost immediately and again wished him well.

              As Primus allowed.

              Ratchet strode past his closed office door, leaning in to hear some muffled shuffling sounds. Progress then. He hurried the rest of the way down to the exam room, letting the door swing open wide so the twins would have plenty of space to pass through it. A tray of sedatives and syringes lay on the counter; Ratchet hurriedly grabbed the tray and shoved it in a lower cabinet. It wouldn’t do for either twin to see them, especially after Sideswipe’s clear displeasure of strong sedatives earlier.

              Instead, Ratchet looked over the other supplies Hoist had prepared. He gazed down at the items, racking his processor, before he went over to one of the cabinets on the wall and pulled out a warming blanket.

              Supplies ready, Ratchet adjusted the exam table into a reclining position, lowering it for easy access to climb atop it. As he was finishing, he heard the scuff of a pede and looked up to see the twins in the doorway. Sunstreaker was standing on his own, but Sideswipe’s arm was behind him, either hovering or actively supporting his brother, Ratchet couldn’t tell from this angle.

              Sunstreaker minutely swayed in place, managing to look both hazy and haunted. His optics darted over to the exam table, then Ratchet, and finally back to Sideswipe, as if seeking reassurance.

              The red twin smiled tremulously and took a step forward, gently pulling on Sunstreaker’s elbow. “On the table?” Sideswipe asked Ratchet, gesturing with this free hand.

              “Yes. I’ll get you settled, Sunstreaker, and then we’ll move the table up and recline it back further. Sound all right?”

              “Mmm,” Sunstreaker replied, small tremors running across this frame. Sideswipe guided his brother forward, exerting gentle pressure on golden shoulders to get Sunstreaker to sit. He did so, gingerly, and Ratchet stepped back to allow Sideswipe help his brother swivel and face forwards.

              “Good. That’s good, Sunstreaker. Can you move forward a little? Aft to the edge, please. We’re going to get your feet in these stirrups next.”

              Glacially, Sunstreaker did as Ratchet asked, dim optics trained on him warily. He didn’t flinch away however, as Ratchet guided Sunstreaker’s left pede into a stirrup while Sideswipe did the right.

              “Great. Now lean back against the berth. You’re doing very well, Sunstreaker,” Ratchet said absently. Despite placing his feet in the stirrups, Sunstreaker continued to keep his legs closed. Nevertheless, Ratchet spied a smear of dried energon on the back of one thigh and had to fight not to snarl in anger.

              Sideswipe guided his brother backwards and Ratchet sat on the stool he had wheeled over. “All right, Sunstreaker. I’m going to raise the table up so I’m at optic level. Then we’ll recline your upper half a bit. Any questions?”

              Sunstreaker didn’t reply and Ratchet took it as acceptance, especially when Sideswipe nodded at him. He was standing at his twin’s side, hand placed reassuringly on Sunstreaker’s shoulder.

              “Ok then. Here’s the table being lifted.” Ratchet’s foot pressed the lever that adjusted the table’s height and it slowly whirled to life. Sunstreaker flung out a hand, startled, and gripped his brother tight, but Sideswipe merely patted the clenched fingers.

              “Alright, good. Now back,” Ratchet supplied, hitting the next lever. As Sunstreaker reclined with the motion of the berth, Ratchet watched his optics get wider and wider until they disappeared from view. As soon as they did, Sunstreaker whined piteously and began struggling.

              “No. No, no, no, I can’t, Sides, I can’t…!” Sunstreaker cried out, pushing himself upright. Ratchet immediately wheeled backwards and to the side, allowing Sunstreaker to see him.

              “It’s ok, Sunny. Love, it’s all right, he just has to be at the right angle. Sunny, please stop it!” Sideswipe pleaded, trying to get his brother to lie back down.

              “No, Sideswipe, it’s fine,” Ratchet said, holding out a cautionary hand. “He can’t see me or what I’m doing. It’s understandable that that unnerves him.”

              “Well, what can we do?” Sideswipe asked, exasperated. Sunstreaker sagged against him, panting as he stared fearfully at Ratchet. It was almost as if he didn’t recognize him, and Ratchet couldn’t blame the other mech. The sedative atop his trauma was probably causing his processor to play tricks on him. They would have to do this another way.

              Ratchet stood up and began backing out the door. “Give me a few minutes, I have an idea.”

\--

              About ten minutes later, Ratchet came back into the exam room, making sure to stomp loudly and announce his presence several feet away from the door. When he poked his head around the doorframe, he saw Sideswipe had calmed his brother some, enough for him to lay back down. Dim optics observed Ratchet’s entrance, brightening a little from caution as he approached.

              “Ok. What about this?” Ratchet asked, lowering an IV stand to the floor several feet away from the end of the exam table. He adjusted the mirror freshly attached to the tall pole, and aimed it at the apex of Sunstreaker’s thighs. “I think you should still be able to see what I’m doing.”

              Sideswipe leaned away from Sunstreaker to inspect the makeshift contraption. “Did you just make that?”

              “Maybe,” Ratchet admitted, wiping away some metal shavings off the back of the mirror. “And it may fall apart tomorrow, but for now it should work.”

              The crimson twin turned amazed optics onto Ratchet. “Thank you,” he said earnestly. He stepped back to his brother’s side, pointing. “Look, Sunny. You’re going to be able to see what Ratchet’s doing. That’s ok, right?”

              Sunstreaker carefully studied the mirror and then Ratchet. “Ok,” he finally said hoarsely.

              Ratchet nodded once, sitting back on the stool and slowly wheeled over, dragging the mirror stand and table with his supplies with him. “Lay back, Sunstreaker. Tell me if you can see all right.”

              Sunstreaker’s apprehensive face disappeared from view as he lay back down. A few moments later, his voice floated up from the other end of the table. “I can see.”

              “Good. Ok, Sunstreaker, I’m going to need you to spread your legs. Let your thighs fall open naturally,” Ratchet instructed.

              A tremble started up again in Sunstreaker’s legs and he took several large, shuddering ventilations before the golden thighs spread. Sideswipe whispered half heard encouragements, face turned towards his brother and apparently trusting enough of Ratchet to not keep an optic on him.

              As the gap between Sunstreaker’s legs widened, Ratchet saw more and more smears of energon decorating Sunstreaker’s interface panel and pelvic area. Only a streak on the left side of the panel seemed to be relatively fresh, so at least Sunstreaker wasn’t hemorrhaging profusely.

              “Very good. Sunstreaker, I’m going to touch your thigh now, and move forward a little. You tell me, or your brother, if you need me to pause for a minute or even back off. We do this at your pace, Sunny,” Ratchet said as reassuringly as possible.

              “Ok,” Sunstreaker answered in a piteous warble. It made Ratchet’s spark shrink in on itself. This was a formidable frontline warrior, one viewed with wariness by the majority of the Decepticons. And here he was, scared and trembling. Who had done this to him? Who was even physically capable?

              “You’re doing great, Sunny,” Sideswipe murmured. “Can you open up your panel for him?”

              “… he’ll see.”

              Ratchet watched Sideswipe suck in a large ventilation before letting it out shakily. He looked over at Ratchet, expression torn. “I know. But maybe he can help.”

              “I’ll do my best,” Ratchet promised to Sideswipe, wishing he could wipe that pained expression from Sideswipe’s face.

              A scrape of metal made Ratchet look down to see Sunstreaker’s interface panel slowly parting, each half sliding beneath the other plates of his groin. Ratchet stared at Sunstreaker’s array as it was revealed and blinked in confusion.

              “What… what is this?” Ratchet commented softly to himself. Then he raised his voice a bit. “Sunstreaker – I’m going to wipe you down, there is some dried energon here I need to remove in order to see better.”

              Ratchet grabbed a damp cloth and carefully touched the farthest aspect of Sunstreaker’s array, steadfastly not drawing back at Sunstreaker’s whimper. He made quick work of the area, each swipe revealing an array formation he’d never encountered before.

              “Sideswipe,” Ratchet called. When there was no response, he looked up to see Sideswipe shivering a little, his head hanging and turned away from Ratchet. “Sideswipe!”

              The red mech looked over, optics a little wild. “What?” he snapped.

              Ratchet gestured at Sunstreaker’s array. “What is this?”

              Some of the feralness faded, replaced by a trembling lip and dim optics. “Please… please, Ratchet… don’t make me say it.” His voice was small and his shoulders hunched defensively. He suddenly looked very, very young, and very broken, and Ratchet, not normally a tactile mech, had the intense urge to stand up and enfold both of them in his arms.

              Ratchet glanced back down, shoving that urge aside. It wouldn’t help him treat the physical wounds that needed attention. “Ok. But I need answers, Sideswipe. How about… how about just replying with ‘yes’ or ‘no’ as I ask questions?”

              “Yes,” Sideswipe replied after a pause.

              “Good, Sides, thank you. Are you like this too?” Ratchet inquired, gesturing once more to Sunstreaker.

              “Yes. Mostly.” Ratchet would let that go for now; Sunstreaker was his main concern at this time.

              “Does he have a spike?”

              “No,” Sideswipe whispered, reaching out to lay a hand on Sunstreaker’s belly. The golden mech was still shaking, his cooling fans whirling loudly in the face of his stress.

              “What about a main anterior node?”

              “No.”

              Ratchet took in a steadying ventilation, examining the faint scars around the flat plates where a spike housing should be.

              “Were they taken from you when you were very young?” Ratchet asked gently. Those scars were much too old to have been from recent wounds.

              Sideswipe’s trembling grew more pronounced, and he swayed in place, optics flickering. “Yes.”

              “Sideswipe, sit down,” Ratchet instructed, alarmed at the near swoon. It would be just his luck that both twins collapsed into a terrified stupor. There was obviously more going on here than Ratchet had originally thought and dredging up old memories was clearly taking a toll on both twins. “Next to your brother.”

              Sideswipe did as commanded, practically falling onto the berth surface, one leg dangling over the edge. He looked down at Ratchet with optics bleached nearly completely of color. The red mech sucked in several large ventilations and let them out slowly, calming himself a little. Ratchet watched, poised to leap up and catch the other mech if need be. Finally, Sideswipe nodded at Ratchet to continue.

              “You’re doing great, Sideswipe. Both of you are,” Ratchet said encouragingly. “One more question – these plates around his port,” he said, indicating the entrance to Sunstreaker’s valve. It was small, barely wider than two of Ratchet’s digits and where plush metalmesh lips should be, there was only flat, solid looking pieces of metal which were definitely foreign to the natural anatomy. They curled under the entrance, appearing to enter the valve channel itself. “Are these removable?”

              “No. They… were part of our final upgrades. So we would stay small… and tight,” Sideswipe whispered shakily.

               Ratchet bit his lower lip until he could taste energon and shook his head once, sharply. He’d seen injuries to pleasure workers where they had taken a spike too big for that metalmesh to accommodate, which was rare. But he’d never seen this before. This was… this was beyond cruel. And if Ratchet ever found the mech responsible, they would see what a fragged off medic could do with their anatomical knowledge.

               “All right. Ok,” Ratchet said, mostly to himself, trying to regain his focus. He had a patient in front of him, suffering. There was no time for his rage, and the twins would undoubtedly think it was directed against them and react accordingly. “I need to get something; I’m just going over to that cabinet over there, so I’ll be right back.”

               Without waiting for an answer, Ratchet stood and walked to the cabinet. He opened it, rummaging through several bottles before finally finding the vial of numbing gel in the back. He quickly returned to his stool, slathering his dominant hand with the substance.

                “Sunstreaker – I need to do a valve exam and check for further damage. Will you let me do that?” Ratchet asked, looking up between Sunstreaker’s legs. The mech twitched in the stirrups before producing a shaky ‘ok.’

                 “Good. All right, I’ve tried to warm my fingers up as much as possible, but they may be a little on the chilly side. Here we go. Again, let me know if you need me to stop.”

                 Ratchet placed his other hand on Sunstreaker’s array, his thumb and forefinger bracketing the small opening. A moment later, he traced the entrance with one wet finger, smearing the gel around and gently pushing some into the interior. He palpated the outer ‘lips’, testing the give of the metal. There was more than Ratchet had anticipated, but he doubted it would be enough for Sunstreaker to comfortably take an average sized mech’s spike. The fit would be incredibly tight. A large mech like Optimus or Ironhide would find it far too snug for their equipment to even penetrate, but ignorant smaller mechs would likely find the fit enjoyable.

                 Ratchet had to fight back another shudder of disgust.

                 “What… what are you doing?” Sunstreaker managed to ask. “That feels better.”

                 “It’s a local anesthetic in topical form – it will only last about an hour, but it should give you a little relief until your repair systems kick in. I don’t want to hurt you any more than necessary when I palpate you,” Ratchet explained.

                 “Th… thank you.”

                 “Yes, thank you, Ratchet,” Sideswipe murmured, looking down at him gratefully.

                 “You’re welcome. Let me know if you feel anything,” Ratchet encouraged, slowly inserting his forefinger. Once his digit was knuckle deep, he let it remain quiescent, waiting for the valve to adjust to the intruder and the numbing gel to take effect.

                 Ratchet reflexively rubbed Sunstreaker’s thigh, trying to soothe the too tense cables. The mech was shivering harder, his respirations sounding harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Ratchet doubted it was due to pain; he was being extremely careful. It was more likely due to the situation itself.

                 “Sunstreaker, can you move your calipers?” Ratchet asked, carefully curling his finger under and trying to feel for the edges of the plates.

                 “… my what?” came the confused reply.

                 “Your calipers. They line your valve channel in concentric circles and flex in pleasure. Most mecha are able to squeeze down with them on something in their valve” Ratchet explained.

                 “Pleasure? What’s that?” Sideswipe spat bitterly. Ratchet had to agree with him – had either twin ever felt pleasure from this butchered array?  

                 “I don’t… I don’t know how to do that,” Sunstreaker said, his legs flexing as he tried.

                 Ratchet patted him on the thigh, utterly unable to feel the edges of the replacement metal. Which meant it likely continued down far into the channel, perhaps lining it entirely. Did they even still have calipers? Did they still produce lubricant at all if they lacked the lining a regular mech possessed? Ratchet had so many more questions but was worried about pushing either twin over the edge.

                 “That’s all right, Sunny. I’m just checking,” Ratchet murmured, continuing his digital exam.

                 So far, he had yet to encounter any interface nodes at all, just that smooth metal all the way around. The plates were obviously bonded with their frames if it had energon supply so Ratchet suspected they could feel _some_ kind of sensation through it. But he couldn’t imagine anything other than unrelenting pressure when a spike entered the channel. Much like a spike being thrust down a mech’s intake – a receptacle was there, but it wasn’t wired for pleasure. It seemed like their valves had been mutilated to be just that: a hole to accept a spike, to pleasure it and not the other way around.

                Finally, Ratchet withdrew his digit, unable to palpate any deeper. A speculum would assist, but Ratchet didn’t want to stretch those already stressed walls even further. Thankfully, there were only a few smears of drying energon and transfluid on his finger; whatever area that had torn seemed to be no longer even seeping.

                “The bleeding seems to have stopped,” Ratchet informed them both. “There’s not much else I can do for the moment. I’ll let you take the numbing gel and you can apply it as often as you need; your repair nanites should take care of the rest within the next day or so.”

                Sideswipe heaved a vent of relief, his head disappearing from view for a moment. “Thanks, Ratch,” he whispered. “You have no idea…”

                “You’re right, I don’t,” Ratchet replied, carefully wiping up stray globs of lubricant and gel. “I don’t know your exact circumstances before you joined up with the Autobots. Maybe you didn’t have access to medical care. Nevertheless, this could have been fixed,” Ratchet reported heatedly, gesturing to Sunstreaker’s array. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

                “We _did_ ,” Sideswipe retorted, leaning forward with a supporting hand on Sunstreaker’s hip. He glared down at Ratchet, armor bristling. “We told the medic who did our entry exam. He even looked us over. Well, me anyway. He took one look and said we were stuck this way, too damaged to repair. Then he shoved my cover shut and told me to get out, looking at me like I was some…” Sideswipe waved a hand through the air, lips turned down in a scowl, “… like we had _chosen_ to be like this.”

                Ratchet gaped up at Sideswipe, lower jaw dropped open in shock. He had read all the crew’s medical records from beginning to end multiple times; the findings in that initial exam had never once been mentioned in the twins’ files.

                 “That’s not in your official record. Not at all,” Ratchet replied faintly. “If I had known…”

                 “Well, you do now. So which is it then?” Sideswipe challenged, “Are we too fragged up to fix or _can_ we actually be repaired? Because I got a lecture on the way in from Prowl about energon expenditures and limited resources so how’s that going to work exactly?”

                 Ratchet was brought up short. Sideswipe was not wrong; supplies were low. But how could Ratchet, in good conscience, leave the twins in such a state?

                 “Are you in pain? On a day to day basis?” Ratchet inquired, processor whirling. That would have to be his first priority.

                 “Sunny gets twinges now and then,” Sideswipe replied warily, leaning back a little. His optics were warily hopeful as they searched Ratchet’s face.

                 All of a sudden, Sunstreaker began struggling, causing both Ratchet and Sideswipe to jump to their feet. Ratchet immediately felt badly; he had promised to get Sunstreaker comfortable, and here the mech was, still spread wide and exposed.

                 “Sides… Sideswipe always hurts,” Sunstreaker gasped, finally managing to sit upright. “Can I get down now?”

                 “Yes, absolutely. Here, let’s get you standing, and then I’ll clean up the table so you can lie back down,” Ratchet said, unthinkingly reaching out a hand to Sunstreaker’s shoulder.

                 The golden twin flinched slightly, but allowed the touch much to Ratchet’s surprise.

                 “Can’t we go back to our room?” Sunstreaker asked wearily. His face was pinched with tension and Ratchet almost forgot what the golden twin’s perpetual sneer looked like.

                 “I’d like to keep an eye on you for a little while longer. Transfuse you with some medical grade energon and top off your coolants. You’ve been running hot for a while now. Your systems need a bit of a reset,” Ratchet explained as Sunstreaker leaned on his brother.

                 Ratchet quickly wiped down the exam berth, removing the stirrups and rearranging the pieces of the table to support a mech’s outstretched legs and propped up back. He laid the first warming blanket across the berth and activated it. Sunstreaker had been tense for several hours; he’d surely benefit from relaxing those taut cables.

                 After gesturing for Sunstreaker to take a seat, Ratchet bustled over to the cabinet where the other blankets were stored and grabbed another. He began unfolding it, walking back towards the berth when he looked up and stopped. The twins had managed to squeeze both of their frames onto the exam table, legs and arms intertwined to better fit. Sunstreaker looked exhausted, optics still pale. Sideswipe didn’t appear much better, although his gaze was trained on every one of Ratchet’s movements. He recalled Sideswipe’s offhand comment that they always had weapons on them, and Ratchet made an effort to slow himself down.

                 “I’m just going to lay this over you both,” Ratchet explained before gently draping it over their pedes and then dragging the other end up. Some insane urge made him tuck it around their shoulders. Sunstreaker sighed and burrowed beneath the blanket, pressing his face against his brother’s shoulder. Sideswipe stared up at Ratchet, optics rapidly blinking, faceplates pinched with a rapid progression of expressions, none of which Ratchet could readily name.

                 “Now what do you mean Sideswipe always hurts?” Ratchet inquired, snagging the stool with a foot and wheeling it over. He raised it before sitting down, now able to look both of them in the optics. Something moved under the blanket; Sunstreaker’s hand, Ratchet surmised, when Sideswipe jolted a little and glared at his brother.

                 “I… they did me first,” Sideswipe finally admitted, optics downcast. “They didn’t do a good job.”

                 “His valve opening is smaller,” Sunstreaker supplied.

                 Sideswipe nodded. “Smaller, yeah. It always feels… raw. It aches… deep inside. And the back of my legs feel like they’re burning.”

                 “It’s always like that?” Ratchet asked, astonished. Sunstreaker was the more volatile one, the mech some Autobots had whispered belonged more to the opposing faction than theirs. But Sideswipe was just as effective on the battlefield and even slightly faster than his brother. How did Sideswipe manage that if he was in chronic pain?

                 “Pretty much, yeah,” Sideswipe agreed, nodding. “Some days are better than others.”

                 “I’d like to do an exam on you as well, Sideswipe,” Ratchet said urgently, processor already whirling as it tried to diagnose the other mech’s symptoms. “As soon as possible.”

                 Sideswipe nodded, head still hung low. “Do you… are you…?”

                 Ratchet watched the red twin struggle for words, not certain what he was trying to ask. “Am I what, Sideswipe?”

                 Sideswipe shook his head sharply, biting his lower lip. “Why are you being _nice_ to us?”

                 Ratchet reared back at the question, astonished. “I think the real question should be why hasn’t anyone else?” he replied sadly. It disgusted Ratchet; not just what was done to them while they were young, but the way they had been treated by that first Autobot medic. After that, they had probably given up and just suffered silently.

                 “We’re not worth it,” Sideswipe muttered back. “We’re just… gutter trash.”

                 “Well, that’s slag,” Ratchet retorted immediately. “You’re living beings; you have just as many rights as the next mech no matter where you were born!”

                 Sideswipe shrunk back against the berth in the face of Ratchet’s ire, Sunstreaker growling softly in response. “You’re mad.”

                 Ratchet threw up his hands and shot up from his stool to begin pacing, a restless energy flowing through him. He knew he had to proceed with the twins very carefully, both because of trust issues and resources, but he wanted nothing more than to place both of them in stasis and rip that offending hardware out of their interface arrays right now.

                 “Of course I’m mad! Who does this?! Those scars are practically nonexistent which means this was done to you when you were very, very young! Why?! I can’t even imagine! And why weren’t you ever fixed, even before the Autobots? If I ever found the mecha who did this to you, or the ones who just turned a blind optic, I’d rip them apart with my bare hands!” Ratchet exclaimed, clenching his hands into fists to demonstrate.

                 As his chest heaved with the force of his heavy ventilations, both twins peered at him over the top of their blanket, optics wide and wary. After a minute of staring at Ratchet’s huffing form, Sideswipe reluctantly opened his mouth.

                 “We’re twins. ‘Atrocities’. ‘Offenses to Primus’ will.’ We couldn’t be allowed to reproduce,” Sideswipe explained bitterly, obviously quoting things which had been said to them in the past. “And then when we were sold… we were unique. They did something else that made us guaranteed to not get sparked up. We were pretty… and our valves would always be ‘virginal’. We were in high demand once word got out; fetched a _real_ high price, especially for both of us together.

                 “But hey… thanks to the war, all those mecha are probably dead and rusted by now,” Sideswipe ventured, optics dim and haunted.

                 Ratchet stared at him, frozen in place by the horrifying glimpse into their past. “You… sold?” he whispered.

                 “Yeah, a few times. Course the last time to the Pits was more permanent. We got too big. Too strong. They couldn’t keep us _complacent_ anymore,” Sideswipe reported with an ugly sneer. “We started hurting the tricks more than they hurt us and then we weren’t worth it anymore.

                 “In the Pits, we were good. Too good to be handicapped at our next fight because some Senator wanted the chance to frag a pretty gladiator. But not good enough to waste credits on a medic to fix us. Then the war started and we chose the Autobots. After that first medic, we almost changed our minds,” Sideswipe admitted, dropping his gaze. “But we weren’t being pimped out or fought to the death, so it was better. Still is, really.”

                 Ratchet alternatively burned hot and cold as rage and despair warred within him, all on their behalf. It was horrifying that this was how they felt, that flinging themselves into battle against probable death on a daily basis was better than anything else they’d ever experienced in their life.

                 It only hardened his resolve to fix them, to at least render them pain-free.

                 “I’m glad you didn’t change your minds,” Ratchet finally replied after a long moment of stunned silence. He walked slowly towards the exam table, raising his arms and giving them plenty of warning before his hands descended upon their shoulders and he squeezed. “I apologize on behalf of that first medic. He was wrong. So wrong to treat you that way. I promise you I’m going to do all that I can.”

                 He looked at one twin then the other, meeting their optics with his own earnest stare. Sunstreaker, still dazed from his drugs and ordeal, merely gave him a slow blink. Sideswipe, on the other hand, gazed back with wide optics, lower lip trembling for a second before he bit at it with his upper denta.

                 Once more, Ratchet had to restrain himself from yanking them into an embrace. Instead, he pulled back and grabbed the energon supplies, hands quickly laying out the tubing.  

                 “Do… do you really think you can fix us?” Sideswipe ventured quietly.

                 “I won’t be able to make something from nothing,” Ratchet replied carefully. It wouldn’t due to get their hopes up. “Not here on Earth with the materials I have. Interface equipment is delicate and very specialized, tying directly into a mech’s neural net. That’s probably why you have pain in the back of your legs; the butcher who worked on you didn’t just remove the sensors in your spike and node, but somehow damaged the clusters surrounding the main one in your array.”

                  Ratchet wheeled over an IV stand and hung the bag of fluids from it before spiking the bag with the tubing needle. He let the midgrade fill the line before crimping it off.

                  “My main goal will be to improve your pain levels so that hopefully you don’t feel any at all. Valve functionality would then be next.”

                  Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged a look. “We don’t care if we’re functional. To be honest, interfacing doesn’t hold any appeal to us. And it’s the middle of a war, so it’s not like we would want to raise a newspark, even if that changed.”

                  “Understandable,” Ratchet replied, cringing a little at imparting the next bit of news. “But you should know… neither one of you could ever carry a newspark, even if your valves were normal. Half sparks simply can’t support the demands of a newspark as it grows.”

                  Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both gave him stunned looks. “So… all of this,” Sideswipe exclaimed, sweeping a hand in the area of their groins, “… was for nothing?! They wanted to stop us from having sparklings because we were twins, but _because_ we’re twins, we can’t anyway?”

                  Ratchet held out a warning hand and rushed to reply. “Not completely. You could have made a newspark… both of you together, with a third partner. _If_ you had the ability to produce transfluid. So they were on the right track with the removal of your spikes.”

                 “That doesn’t make me feel much better, Ratchet,” Sideswipe replied, glaring a little.

                 Ratchet gave a small nod, acknowledging the frontliner’s ire. “I suppose not. But I also want you to be informed as much as possible. I plan on letting you know what I’m doing every step of the way. That being said… Sunny, can I have your arm so I can get this energon started?” Ratchet asked, looking at the other twin.

                 “Ok…but don’t call me that,” Sunstreaker murmured. It was a protest without any real threat behind it, especially as he didn’t even hesitate to unwind his arm from the blanket and lay it across Sideswipe’s abdomen for easy access to his cephalic port.

                 Grabbing the IV line, Ratchet added a large bore needle and then connected it to Sunstreaker’s port, beginning the flow. “Alright. Then I think we can all agree I will try and resolve the pain issues and then go from there. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to do that, although I’ll have to do further exams first.”

                 “Are you… going to tell anyone?” Sunstreaker hesitantly asked, optics flicking up from his arm to Ratchet’s face.

                 “Not the details, absolutely not,” Ratchet said firmly. “I will have to let Prowl and Optimus know about taking you off duty, of course. I _might_ have to share the details with one or two of the other medics in case I need extra hands, but I’ll try to keep as much as possible between the three of us.”

                 “We’d appreciate that,” Sideswipe said, frowning a little.

                 “Speaking of sharing details… who did this to you, Sunstreaker?” Ratchet asked bluntly, gesturing towards the golden twin. Ratchet didn’t care much for gossip, nor was he one to leave the Bay often outside of battles. Interpersonal relationships between the crew really never crossed his radar, so he had no idea who the twins had been seeing.  

                 Sunstreaker shared a glance with his brother, before looking back at Ratchet. “It doesn’t matter.”

                 Now it was Ratchet’s turn to frown. “Whoever it was _hurt_ you.”

                 “Nothing new there. Besides, it was consensual,” he replied, closing his optics and turning his head to nestle his face against his brother’s neck. “I’m tired. Can I recharge?”

                 Ratchet gritted his denta, but didn’t push it, especially when Sideswipe gave him a small shake of his helm. It bothered Ratchet, though. Even if it the interface had been consensual as Sunstreaker had said, surely the other mech had seen the energon smeared over his spike when he had pulled out? Didn’t he care that he had damaged Sunstreaker?

                “Yes. You can recharge. The both of you can stay here for now while I speak with Prowl and Optimus. When you wake, I can do an exam on you, Sideswipe,” Ratchet said decisively.

                “Awesome. That’s sounds just great,” Sideswipe said with a resigned sigh, sliding down atop the exam table a little.

                Ratchet wasn’t offended by the sarcasm; he understood it originated from fear and nervousness. “Mm. Get some rest. No one will be able to come down that hallway unless I authorize it,” he said, getting up and straightening his cart of supplies.

                Once done, he began walking towards the room’s exit, turning the overhead lights out on the way. Moments before the door shut behind him, Sideswipe’s voice called out Ratchet’s name.

                “Yes?” he asked, poking his head back into the room.

                Sideswipe’s helm was rolled towards the door, his optics dim. His glossa peaked out, nervously wetting his lower lip before he spoke.

                “Thanks, Ratchet. Even if you can’t fix us… just…thanks. ”

                Ratchet regarded the frontliner for several seconds, spark whirling madly in his chest. He wanted to give them all the reassurances and promises he could offer, but he knew better. So he settled for giving a brisk nod and a few simple words. “You’re very welcome, Sideswipe. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

 

 ~ End

 

(this is only the beginning...) 

 


	2. In the Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Any more from the Ghost verse?
> 
> Just a little ficlet followup

     “Do you think he can help us?” Sunstreaker whispered, startling Sideswipe out of his thoughts. He had thought his brother had been recharging, but apparently not. 

     Sideswipe turned his head to look down at Sunstreaker. “I think he wants to,” Sideswipe said after a pause. 

     “Mmm. Yeah,” Sunstreaker replied. Something in the tone of his reply made Sideswipe look harder at his twin. 

     “You  _do_  want to be fixed, right?” Sideswipe pressed. 

     “’Course,” Sunstreaker immediately retorted. “But when has anything ever gone right for us?”

     Sideswipe bit his lower lip and reluctantly nodded. “You have a point. How are you feeling now?”

     “Better,” Sunstreaker admitted, shifting in place a little. He ended up pressing his forehelm against Sideswipe’s shoulder and shuttering his optics. “Pretty numb down there. That was nice of him.”

     “Yeah. Sunny… why’d you go to him?” Sideswipe hesitantly inquired. 

     Sunstreaker stiffened but didn’t otherwise move. “I didn’t. Not really.”

     “You went to his office. There are plenty of other places on this ship where you could get lost for a while and not have anyone find you. Why Ratchet?” Sideswipe pressed.

     Sunstreaker shrugged. “Where would you have gone?”

     Sideswipe thought about it. Separated from his twin, no real friends to speak of, in pain, feeling the sharp twist of betrayal from someone they had hoped would be more… where would he had hid himself, especially if he were to resort to instinct?

     “I’m not sure,” Sideswipe replied slowly. “But I think I know where to go to now.”  


End file.
